‘Tis first, when the sun shines
not of warmth but of death.
When the air is poison,
the sea an acid of sulfuric fury.
Dead, for almost an eternity,
before perchance, a molecule clones.
Then, in the blink of an eye,
are we.
To what then, grand God or tumbling physics,
does our fretful presence owe?
And why does it matter from whence?
We are giants, concerned with tiny things.
The elephant afraid of the mouse.
Shall we, eventually, overcome our tiny woes?
Shall we instead press our might heads
to more formidable foes?
Hunger, disease, greed.
Those are the ruin of us all,
and worthy of our nascent minds.
Dragon Stories 